you do. A fortnight ago he entered this house as I left it."

"Yes, I remember he did so,” replied Mary, very coolly. "You now know that I am the daughter of an honourable man, who will not allow me to be insulted with impunity."

"An honourable man?" cried Wagstaff, forcing a laugh. "Ha ha! Old Bob Ruby-the gambler, blackleg, cheat!"

"What, sir?" exclaimed Mary. "You do not know my father."

Wagstaff's face assumed the devilish appearance it had worn in the morning during his quarrel with Ruby, as he almost hissed.

out

"When next you see your father, ask him if I have maligned him? Ask him if he knows Fred Wagstaff, the confederate in many of his clever schemes. This very day he told me you were ignorant of his real name and character. He has used

bitter words to me-as bitter as those

which have but now fallen from your own lips. A worm will turn when trodden on. You both have spurned me on the strength of your presumed goodness. Ask him if what I have said be true-' No honourable man would practise deception.' If he be one he will tell you, as he but lately told me, that he is known by every name that honest men despise."

Wagstaff's brutal harangue was brought to a close by Mary falling senseless to the ground, and Mrs. Millar thrusting him from the room, as she exclaimed

Coward! Leave my house! Coward, coward!"

Wagstaff took his way to the lane, Mrs. Millar's words ringing in his ears long after he left the garden.

Mary soon recovered, and looking wildly around, asked, like one who had seen some frightful object—"Is he gone?"

"Yes, dear," replied Mrs. Millar. "Villain that he is!"

66 Oh, what has he done? what has he done?" cried Mary, hiding her face in her hands. "Left me with distrust of my own father;" then checking herself, she rose up, and wiping the tears from her eyes, continued, “Oh, wicked girl that I am, to doubt one so kind, so loving, on the word of such a villain. 'Gambler! cheat!' the words sound in my ears, as though uttered by a thousand tongues. I cannot rest here, dear Milly, we will go to London at once, and see my father.'

"My dear child," said Mrs. Millar, alarmed at the earnestness of Mary's voice and manner, "wait till to-mor

row."

"It is useless to dissuade me," replied Mary; "either go with me, or I go alone. Did I remain here, I should not see another day with unshaken reason. Are you decided? Do we go together?"

"Yes, Mary, yes!" said the bewildered Mrs. Millar. "This all comes of that

plaguy ball; I wish that fellow's legs had been in a man-trap, before they had brought him to this house.'

Before her lamentation was ended, Mary had left the room, and Mrs. Millar felt convinced that there was nothing to be done, but to prepare for a journey to London instantly.

88

CHAPTER VII.

MR. GOAD had been too busily occupied about many matters to renew his love-suit in the kitchen, and had just descended again to his office, after washing his face and hands, combing his hair, and putting on a clean cravat, in fact, having, as he considered, dressed for dinner, when Mr. Wilmot presented himself, the clock in the office chiming the half-hour.

"You are rather before your time, are you not ?" said Goad, after the usual salutations; "we do not dine until seven."

"I am so," replied Wilmot; "but I have a little matter of business to transact with you before dinner."

"Business!" said Goad. "Delighted to